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“Oh, you mean that we eat fae?” Fromlith chuckled.

“Yes. Quite untrue I see, and?—”

“Oh, no. We eat you guys all the time. You’re tasty.

Aunt Brogrog makes this scrumptious fae stew.

She won’t tell anyone what her secret herb blend is, but the meat gets so tender!

It’s a Flokrion family tradition to have it on holidays.

Well, not the hoity-toity Flokrions. Not fancy enough for them, of course.

They serve their fae roasted over a spit, with apples stuck between their teeth. ” He rolled his eyes.

Crispin had gone pale, which was an interesting phenomenon when seen on a furry face.

Leopold wasn’t feeling too secure himself.

He considered making a run for it, but with the giant’s long legs, Fromlith would catch him instantly.

Maybe a better strategy was to convince their host that there was something wrong with Leopold and that noshing on him would make him sick.

Leopold squinted his eyes and tried to imagine how a diseased magic deer thing might act.

Was it better to faint, like Crispin had, or to stagger around in circles?

But Fromlith was laughing. “Hey, don’t worry. You’re safe with me. Eating your guests is bad manners, and anyway, I’m vegan.”

“V-vegan?” stuttered Crispin. His hand had taken Leopold’s and was squeezing it vigorously.

“Yeah. Better for my health—I have high cholesterol. Besides, you never know what the fae have been eating before you catch them. My cousin Dlodlos got a bad one once and spent three days puking his guts out, even with the help of my auntie’s tea.”

“I am not tainted!” announced Crispin, clearly offended.

“Yeah, probably not. But you never know.” Fromlith slurped some tea and then set down his cup and rubbed his hands together. “Now then! You were saying something about a mishap?”

Crispin let go of Leopold’s hand and made another effort to pull himself together. Leopold had to give the guy credit—he didn’t give up easily. Unlike Leopold himself, who rarely found anything worth the effort.

“The device I use to transport between worlds is malfunctioning,” explained Crispin. He held up Thea, displaying her cracked screen.

Fromlith squinted at the tiny—for him—device.

“Ah. Gotcha. Well, I’d offer you a corner in my cottage since you hardly take up any space, but the truth is that sometimes my relatives come to visit, and I’m not sure I’d trust them around you.

My auntie would have you in a pot of boiling water like that .

” He snapped his fingers, a sound like trees being felled, and Crispin emitted a distressed little squeak.

“Yes, well, very kind of you. But I need to return to OotL. Quite urgently, you see. Another reflective surface will likely do. So if I could borrow a mirror?”

“Don’t have one. Sorry. My people don’t cast reflections.”

“I thought that was vampires,” interjected Leopold, who’d mostly remained silent until now.

Crispin and Fromlith stared at him as if he’d just claimed that the Earth was flat.

“Vampires aren’t real,” said Crispin in very much the same tone that Leopold’s parents had once told him—when he was very young—that there were no monsters under his bed.

“Those are just stories they tell to frighten children.”

Fromlith nodded his agreement.

“But how do you know that?’ protested Leopold. “I mean, if there are elves and giants and killer rabbits and magic deer people and… whatever the hell that bird thing on the roof over there is… why not vampires?”

Crispin gave Leopold’s knee a patronizing pat. “Yes, but elves and giants and southern minor cockatrices, which is what that ‘bird thing’ is?—”

“ Southwestern minor cockatrice,” interrupted Fromlith. “They used to think it was a subspecies but now it’s in its own category.”

“Oh, thank you. I’ll need to correct the OotL records on that matter.

” He held Thea out at arm’s length, and then sighed, slipping her back into his pocket.

“Leo, those things are all real. Vampires are pretend .” He said it in exactly the same tone as one of Leopold’s foster mothers used to say Santa Claus wasn’t real .

Leopold ignored the tone. Well, that’s a small relief.

It was nice to get at least one piece of good news today: he wouldn’t have to worry about vampires showing up and wanting to suck his blood.

Which, when he thought about it, really didn’t do all that much to improve their current situation.

“Okay, fine. But without a mirror, how do we get out of here?”

Fromlith shrugged. “I’m not big on shiny stuff. The other branch of the family, they could probably lend you a silver tray or something, but not me. Doesn’t fit my aesthetic, and honestly, I think it’s pretty tacky.”

Crispin’s shoulders sagged, and for the first time, Leopold felt truly bad for him.

The poor guy had just been trying to do his job, and now he was having a crappy day.

Leopold could feel his pain, because that was Leopold’s story almost every day, and it sucked.

“Is there anything else around here that might work?”

Thea began playing Deep Purple again, more quietly this time.

After another long slurp of tea, Fromlith rubbed his beard thoughtfully. “There’s stuff in the city, but with your tiny legs, you’d take days to get there.”

“Days!” Crispin wailed.

“Yeah, and it’s probably not particularly safe for you to go there anyway. You know. On account of the stew.”

Leopold tried to imagine what it would be like to be stranded here forever.

He hadn’t left any loved ones behind, and the grass here really was delicious.

But no televisions. Probably no pizza. And his apartment in Sacramento might be fairly shitty, but it was his shitty apartment, and his bed was fairly comfortable, and the roof kept him dry.

And in Sacramento there were, as far as he knew, no flesh-eating giants.

Only flesh-eating viruses, which to be sure was not much better, but he’d never run into one of those yet either.

Thea turned up her volume, and much as Leopold liked the song, he really didn’t have it in him right now to care about a burning casino in Switzerland in the 1970s. Even if the chorus was totally catchy.

Wait.

The name of the song was “Smoke on the Water.” Water. Which tended to be reflective.

“Is there a lake around here?” Leopold asked.

Crispin gaped at him with surprised admiration. “Yes! If the light shines on still water correctly, that might work very well. Well done, Leo!”

Ignoring the nickname, Leopold preened a little.

Fromlith’s face was scrunched up in thought, which was an impressive sight. “Well… not a lake. But if you walk a few hours in that direction”—he pointed—“you’ll reach the Pond of Disappointment.”

That didn’t sound promising. His whole life had been a pond of disappointment, and he wasn’t keen on spending hours walking to another one. “Why is it called that?”

“Dunno. Maybe because someone wanted a lake and got something smaller instead. I guess it’s reflective enough for you, though.”

“Pond of Disappointment.” Crispin seemed to be tasting the name on his lips. “Worth a try, I suppose.” He stood and brushed bits of foliage off his pants, then looked up at the giant, who still loomed even when seated. “Thank you again. But time is of the essence, so we’ll be going now.”

Leopold stood as well and stretched his legs a little.

He wasn’t sure what he thought about having hooves.

It was kind of nice not to need shoes or socks, but his hooves were fairly sharp, and he wondered if he might be in danger of injuring himself in his sleep.

He wouldn’t be a bit surprised, given his luck.

He thanked Fromlith too. He didn’t know about the other Flokrions, but this one seemed like a decent guy. “Good luck with your roof repairs. And I hope you have a fun vacation.”

“I will. Good luck to you as well. Oh, and one other thing.”

Crispin made an impatient noise. “Yes?”

Fromlith pointed behind them. “You’ll probably want to watch out for that.”